Shadrach,
Meshach, and Abednego
shuffle down the alley where
the women go,
as poplars brush along the nape of night
and whisper in that afterglow
alight.
They’re led up to
a kingdom’s iron throne
on which a king is seated
all alone
and, while scraps of
paper whirl in fevered flight,
they’re made to feel the weight
of human might.